Recruitment Options
by MandyTrekkie
Summary: Phil Coulson has had his share of finding super-powered individuals and bringing them to SHIELD for the greater good. This time, however, things might get a bit more hairy than even he is used to... Rated for mild language.
1. Prologue: Meeting over Pancakes

_**AN:** Credit goes to Marvel Comics, Marvel Studios, the writers of Iron Man (2008), and finally Clark Gregg himself for his wonderful portrayal of everyone's favorite SHIELD agent. With thanks to Forgotten Honor for beta'ing.  
_

**Prologue**

* * *

Nothing said Americana like a 50's style diner set on a desert road addressed in the Middle of God-knows-where, Southwest United States. Nothing was also better for when a couple of government secret agents and colleagues wanted to hold their bi-weekly meetings to catch up on the events of their unique line of work, bounce ideas off one another, and come up with creative solutions to problems the average citizen couldn't even begin to dream of.

Rose's Place fit that bill to a capital T. They also had great pancakes and a mean cup of coffee.

Jasper Stillwell, Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. and exactly one half of the people that attended these aforementioned meetings, sighed and ran a hand over his smooth head as he exited his burgundy company issued car. The desert sun was murder when you were bald and spent most of your time indoors pouring over copious amounts of intelligence work. Not that he would trade his position for more field time just to catch a few rays, he liked to leave the footwork to his colleague, but it still felt like his skull was the griddle that Rose used to fry her delicious cakes every time he came out here. Maybe this time they could discuss a standard issue baseball cap to come with the suit and sidearm. Something classy, with a logo and everything. He would be sure to bring it up after the first cup of joe.

Stillwell spared a glance to the black Acura that was parked in its usual place under the half dead Joshua tree in front of the diner. If it was there that meant he wasn't the first to arrive, which meant he had lost their long standing bet again, and that meant the first round of coffee and a breakfast entree of the winner's choice was going on his tab. Resigning himself, Jasper walked past the car and the tree, in which a desert dwelling bird of some sort was chattering up a storm, towards the shiny chrome doors that led to his pancake heaven.

The doors opened before the agent could even raise a hand to the handle. A burly man, whose face reminded Stillwell of the Neanderthal exhibit at the Natural History Museum, was leaving at the same time he was entering, and proceeded to push past the suit, knocking shoulders with Jasper harder than was really necessary.  
Even being the self-titled "Cubicle Hero of Intelligence" that he had become, Stillwell still felt his body tense with the S.H.E.I.L.D. training that had been drilled into him for years at the academy. Almost instantly he could think of seven different ways he could bring "Caveman" down to his knees. Three involved seriously damaging some important goods of the man. One involved the ballpoint pen in his left suit pocket, which was a particularly good one, but since already losing the bet had left a bad taste in his mouth, Jasper decided to go with a simpler option.

"Excuse me," Stillwell said politely as he let his body gracefully turn with the force of the push until he had his back towards the diner. He plastered on an insincere but convincing smile, the one agents usually used when dealing with the usually unsuspecting public in an effort to disarm and relax.  
"Caveman" looked over his shoulder and grunted something Jasper decided to take as a goodwill apology before stomping off in the direction of the tree, going around the Acura in a wide curve.

Stillwell watched him get into a beat up pickup truck before the government agent allowed himself to breath again, straightened his suit and tie before pushing the chrome doors open and stepping into air conditioned bliss. His eyes adjusted from the bright sunlight to a montage made up of various bits of American culture designed to swell your national pride and make you crave that classic diner cuisine. Red vinyl booths went all the way down the windowed outer wall while matching bar stools accompanied a chrome plated bar. Pictures of old fashioned carhops serving classic model Fords and Chevys decked the walls, along with a few old records with bright labels for color. A jaunty rockabilly tune was playing from a jukebox sitting in a corner while the only member of the wait staff, decked out in the diner standard of a blue dress and stark white apron, noted his arrival by putting on a fresh pot of coffee.

Jasper nodded and gave Cheryl the waitress a more friendly smile as he took long strides towards the only booth that was occupied in the entire place. In one smooth motion he flattened his tie and slid into the opposite side of the table, settling down comfortably while giving his colleague a quick once over in order to judge his mood this morning. "Geez, you look like you lost your best gun."

Phil Coulson, agent of S.H.E.I.L.D. and the other half of these meetings, looked up from his scrambled eggs and bacon with a tight smile. "Nothing that dramatic."  
Cheryl arrived with a hot mug of the good stuff and sat it down in front of Stillwell, who thanked her gratefully and took a sip to test the murky brown waters. Three creams, three sugars; a liquid heart attack in a cup. It was perfect.

The waitress smiled all the way up to her sparkling blue eyes, knowing that she had her best customers' orders just how they always asked for them. "So that'll be a number three with extra maple syrup, warmed up, right?"

"Mm. Better add an extra short stack to that," Jasper answered back. "I have a feeling I'll be needing it." Cheryl nodded and winked, a little something extra she added every week just for him, and sashayed back around the bar and into the kitchen to put in the orders for the seventy year old pancake goddess, Rose.

Stillwell waited until the kitchen door swung closed before he leaned back into the comfy padded booth backing, unwrapped a spoon from the napkin on his side and absently stirred his coffee counter clockwise. "Does this have something to do with the excursion to the Northeast? Did it go that badly?"

Coulson, who had returned to his breakfast while Stillwell and the waitress played their little flirting game, stabbed his fork at a particularly stubborn part of egg that refused to be picked up. "You've read the reports, I assume. Why ask if you know the answer?"

Jasper shrugged. "Your retelling of it brings the words on the page to life." Coulson snorted in amusement before taking a bite. "So, what happened in Upstate New York that has you grouchier than usual?"

"I'm never grouchy," Coulson countered as he picked up a glass of orange juice. "I just have a pragmatic outlook on life. And if you must know..." He paused to take a sip and to leave a bit of suspense for Stillwell, who was now leaning forward. "We accomplished our objective and now have the subject under our jurisdiction. End of story."

"If it was, you wouldn't have been glaring at your bacon when I came in," Stillwell replied with a frown. "Come on, Coulson, I'm at level six clearance. I can know what really happened up there, and you can tell me the story better than a report."

Coulson sat his juice down with a sigh. "You're not going to leave me alone until I tell you, is that it?"

"Yep," Jasper replied, smug with his triumph over his colleague. The kitchen door swung back open and Cheryl emerged, laden down with a tray stacked four high with golden brown, sugary pancakes that the gods of Asgard would die for. He gleefully picked up his knife and fork to dig in as soon as the plate was set in front of him. He was getting his favorite breakfast and what promised to be a good "on the job" story from Phil Coulson.

It something worth loosing a bet every once in awhile for.


	2. Part 1: A Mutant's Lament

**Chapter 1**

* * *

_Salem Center, Westchester County, New York_

_One Week Ago_

With a mechanical rattling the garage door slid up and into the ceiling. Overhead lights automatically began to flip on row by row, highlighting a modest number of high end vehicles of various models and price ranges. Many were in pristine condition, lovingly kept by their owner at one time, though a few had evidence that someone, or multiple someone's, had been working on them over a length of time. A few tools had been left out on a workspace next to a engine hanging from a small crane, and a greasy rag was lying on the cement floor next to a drain.

Logan stepped into the garage and sniffed at the chilly morning air inside. There were a few traces left of the last mechanics' class of the school year before winter break. Bobby and Peter had been working on the engine block and planned on continuing while classes were out. It was just one of the rare slices of normality they enjoyed at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.

The students here were anything but normal, of course, being part of a school for mutants and all. They were all gifted, but there were a select few not even Logan could consider 'youngsters.' They had seen too much, been through too much in the past few year. So had he, as a matter of fact.

Stryker's raid on the mansion, losing Jean at Alkali Lake, then have her coming back from the dead only to kill Summers, losing the Professor, and then the stand off on Alcatraz between mutants and humans with a "cure," only to lose Jean all over again at the end of his own claws...

He shook his head to dislodge that train of thought. It was the only solution to a problem that would have grown out of hand to apocalyptic proportions. Hank theorized that if left unchecked, Jean could have disintegrated a decent chunk of the West Coast, killing millions of innocent people, both mutant and human; Ororo continued to tell him that it was the right thing and that Jean had wanted him to stop her; Rogue would just take his hand and squeeze it, skin to skin, whenever she thought he was dwelling too much on it.

They were all correct, he knew that, but it didn't stop the pain in his chest every time he saw those memorial graves standing out in the gardens. That was a wound his healing factor could never cope with.

Logan heaved his backpack higher up on his shoulder as he walked past all of the fancy and shiny cars to a darkened corner where the automatic lights didn't reach. He flipped the switch to turn on the nearby work lamp to make a final check on the motorcycle he had taken ownership of after Scott was presumed dead.

"Taking off again?"

He had heard her come in before she spoke, smelled her nearby as he left the mansion, but sometimes Logan wondered if she had better senses than she let on. Or maybe she was partly telepathic, since she always seemed to know what he was thinking... He closed his eyes for a moment before crouching down to get a better look at the tires.

"I was getting tired of soda and chocolate milk."

Ororo chuckled musically as she walked over to where Logan crouched. He pretended to focus on the bike and not the way she glided around to stand in his line of vision, her footsteps light as rain. "Guess you couldn't even wait a day to get out on your own for awhile, once you didn't have a room full of kids to mentor in how to defend themselves." Logan looked up at her but remained silent. "How long?"

Logan stood again and wiped his free hand on his jeans, meeting her questioning sky-blue eyes. "A week, maybe two. I just need some time to clear my head."

Ororo nodded solemnly. "Hank is flying in tonight from D.C. to stay for a little while," she told him matter of factly. "He'll be sorry to have missed you."

Logan snorted as he straddled the bike, the metal groaning as it settled with his adamantium frame. "At least with 'Furball' around, you won't need my help to babysit."

"Rogue will miss you, too."

That made him pause. Marie had been in almost as much emotional turmoil has he had been lately. While, as the new headmistress, Ororo had gladly allowed Rogue to stay at the school despite having taken the cure and lost her touch, Logan questioned whether it was the best move. He would never claim to be an expert in emotional well being, but staying around her peers who retained their mutant abilities seemed have stirred feelings of regret and resentment in the young woman, and it seemed he was right. Mission training in the Danger Room, Logan would often watch Marie's face as she watched the others perform from the control room, a looking of longing in her eyes.

It was eating her up inside, but what could he do? He couldn't go back and change any of the past, for either of them.

"She has to get though this on her own time," Logan said slowly to break the silence that had fallen over the conversation. "We've all got our demons to face, now she has her own."

"But no one ever said we had to face them alone..."

Logan looked into Ororo's eyes again as she gave him a watery smile. Then, in a move that surprised him by its suddenness and by how unexpected it was, Ororo wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulders for a hug, letting her lips brush across his stubbly cheek. He froze at once, but slowly relaxed into her slight frame, taking her scent as he hugged her back gently. She smelt of roses and spice and fresh spring air just after a thunderstorm.

"Come back soon," Ororo whispered into his ear before releasing him and stepping back from the motorcycle. Logan managed a tight nod and even half a smile as he kicked the bike into life. The engine roared like a beast as he sped out into the morning sun, down the long gravel drive, and past the stone and iron gates covered in ivy.

-8-

Logan spent the entire day riding his bike along the wooded back roads of Westchester County with no real destination in mind. For once he was riding just for the enjoyment of riding, going wherever whim or instinct told him to go. It gave him the time to think through events, past and present, since he did his best mind work when adrenaline was pumping through his system, and a motorcycle was usually enough to do the trick.

Mostly his thoughts continued to circle around Ororo and her poignant good bye. God forbid that he turn to mush, but that long hug and hint of a kiss had left an odd feeling in his gut. It wasn't unpleasant, far from it, Ororo was a beautiful woman, no argument necessary. But what brought on this sudden intimacy, with him of all people?

Things had changed in their lives, yes; they had gone through what felt like hell and back with only each other to lean on for support. Logan felt like he knew Ororo Munroe as a person better than most other people, and he was sure she had gotten inside his head more than he was usually comfortable with. They made a good team on the field, they balanced each other; primal rage and serene grace combining to make not only a fighting force to be reckoned with, but a sense of leadership that the younger X-Men had needed out there. It was a system he couldn't argue with.

So when did their balancing act turn into something else? Something else that came with soft kisses and meaningful embraces. And more importantly, how did he feel about it? About her?

Logan felt like he could have been close to an answer, if it hadn't been for the raging sirens that had started sounding behind him.

"God damn it," he growled as he took his eyes off the road to see what it was. A black unmarked car had put one of those removable red police lights on its roof and the lone occupant was motioning for him to pull the motorcycle to the side of the road. Logan cursed again. He didn't want to comply but this was supposed to be time off to clear his mind, and a high speed motorcycle chase with a cop would only complicate things further.

Reluctantly, Logan leaned the bike to the shoulder and let it roll to a stop before turning the ignition off. The unmarked car followed suit and, mercifully for the mutant's hearing, shut off its siren. Logan shifted his weight from one foot to the other while remaining seated without trying to seem anxious to continue on his way. All he needed was for his guy to be a Lone Ranger, shoot first and fill out the paperwork later, type of cop that would have him in cuffs just for looking the wrong way. If that was the case...well, he couldn't be held responsible for what happened next.

The car door opened and Logan glanced over his shoulder, then did a double take. The man that pulled him over looked like he would prefer to do the said paperwork rather than shoot the gun. He was early to late forties, tops, in a black suit that was way to expensive to own on a police salary. He looked like he would be needing a bottle of Rogane in a few years and if he stood straight, he would only come to the top of Logan's chin. If there was ever a stereotype for an IRS agent, this guy would be it. Was this some office lackey down at the station with delusions of grandeur?

As the man in his nicely pressed suit came closer, the skin on the back of Logan's neck began to prickle. Something was wrong with this situation, and something was definitely wrong with this guy. He was carrying himself too smoothly to just be a desk cop. Every movement he made had a purpose, no wasted energy. That wasn't something they taught at the police academy...

Logan forced himself to remain outwardly calm as the man in black stood next to the bike at a safe distance. He certainly didn't smell like any detective Logan had ever known, either. Too much of a metallic tang and the scent of reprocessed air hung on him, like he had been in some kind of pressurized aircraft or submarine for an extended time. His forearm flexed instinctively as he tightened his grip on the handle of the bike.

"Is there a problem, officer?" Logan forced himself to ground out as level as he could make it while the two men sized each other up from their respective positions.

The man reached up and removed his dark tinted aviator sunglasses and spoke as if Logan hadn't said anything. "Good afternoon, sir. Do you have any idea how fast you were going?"

His voice was calm and even, standard, perfectly protocol. Logan inhaled slowly. "Not really, no."

"Do you know what the posted speed limit on this stretch of road is?"

Logan forced down a growl in the back of his throat. "I don't remember."

The man smiled thinly. "Are you aware that in most of the country there are laws against operating a motor vehicle of this class without protective headgear?"

That last question made the hairs on Logan's arms and neck bristle. This man was far too good at getting under someone's skin, all while staying impassive, almost impossibly so. The mutant was more than sure now that this guy was no police officer...

"I think I'll risk it," he snarled back at the man. "Look, bub, is there a problem here or are you trying to get on my nerves?"

That calm, patient smile never even wavered on the man's face. "No, sir, there's not a problem here. Just performing a regular traffic stop, making sure everything is safe for the regular civilian drivers in this area." The man moved his gaze further up the road. Logan followed his line of sight; there were no signs of any other cars on the road, and there hadn't been in a while if the drifts of leaves and pine needles that accumulated on the edges of the black top indication.

They stayed like that for more than a few seconds, Logan glaring at the man and the man just watching him nonchalantly. It was as if he was waiting on something, or trying to make his mind up. Finally the man in the black suit sighed, and Logan tensed for his next move, prepared to fight his way out of whatever situation this turned into.

"Well, then. I suppose I can let you off with a warning this time."

If he didn't have better control over himself, Logan could have sworn his jaw would have dropped in shock. That was twice today he had had the rug pulled out from under him. His brow furrowed in confusion as the man in the black suit slipped his sunglasses back over his eyes and pivoted on his heel. "Drive safely out there," the man said as parting before striding back to his car.

Logan faced forward on his bike, hardly believing what had just happened. This guy, whoever he was, was just going to let him go, even after all the trouble of stopping him in the first place. He shook his head and almost started the motorcycle back up when a thought occurred to him that he might regret in a few moments.

"Hey!" Logan called over his shoulder. The man paused at his open driver's side door and looked back. "Don't you want to see my license and registration?"

The corners of the man's mouth quirked upward in amusement. "Not necessary. I'm sure you are a upright and outstanding citizen. Have a nice day."

With that, the man went back inside his car and carefully pulled back out into the street. As the black Acura passed by the still stationary motorcycle, Logan thought he could hear some type of swinging jazz music blaring from inside the car before it sped up and zoomed off almost as fast as Logan had been going before.

The mutant watched the taillights go further down the road until they were completely obscured by the trees ahead. It was a few more minutes before Logan felt himself calming down after the strange encounter and another two spent trying to piece together what exactly that was all about before he decided to hell with the whole event. Sometimes things just defied any explanation at all.

The motorcycle came back to life underneath him, and Logan was back to speeding in the same direction as before.

-8-

It was close to eleven when Logan decided he had enough thinking for one sitting. A tall mug of something stronger than soda and a place to crash for the night began to look to look like an appealing proposition. Not far from where he currently was motoring along Logan knew there was a little off the way place, called the Princess Bar, that catered to a rowdier, less picky crowd. It was no Four Seasons, probably didn't even count as a One Season, but it was a place that was paid little attention by both the general public and law enforcement, and that was good enough for him.

The mutant lined his bike up with a number of others in front of the bar and strode inside. A stench of stale beer and sweat hit him strong enough to knock a veteran truck driver off his feet, but Logan took it in stride.

It was just as dirty and dark on the inside as it was outside, with a smattering of mismatched tables and chairs sitting atop a filthy stained floor that, at one time, may have been wooden. Some warbled country tune played from a cheap radio behind the counter, where a heavy, bearded fellow who had seen his personal share of broken noses and not enough showers, wiped down glassware with a dubious rag.

One person was sitting at the bar; the rest and the likely owners of the motorcycles outside, were in the shadiest corner of the place with a trio of what was either very pretty men or very ugly hookers. Logan took the lesser of the two evils and straddled a wobbly stool in front of the chunky bar keep.

"Whatever's on tap." Logan slid a five dollar bill across the bar top, which the man took in his fat fingers and grunted in affirmation.

The noises from the dark corner started to become less than family friendly and more like oiled hog wrestling, so he tried to focus on something else, anything else. From the corner of his eye Logan watched the only other patron sitting nearby, and he found himself overwhelmed with what could only be described as deja vu.

It was a young woman sitting huddled up in an over sized winter coat at the end of the counter. She had mousy brown hair that grew in light waves and fell just to her hunched over shoulders, her freckled cheeks red with either cold or embarrassment. Huge doe-like brown eyes shone in the low light whenever she worked up the courage to glance at the back of the room, only to dart back to the bowl of stale mixed nuts she was fumbling to pick through with thickly mittened fingers. The girl looked about as uncomfortable and out of place as was humanly, or mutantly, possible in the Princess, to the point it was almost painful to look at.

This was turning out to be a damn weird day.

Just as he was contemplating the implications of asking what she was doing here, the bartender set down a foamy mug with a loud thud in front of him. Logan nodded stiffly and swigged a good amount of the beer while continuing to keep an eye on the girl, who was now being approached by the bartender.

"Yer gonna order sumfin else?" he gruffly asked of her.

The girl shook her head. "No, thank you. I don't drink... Well, I mean I drink other liquids, water and stuff like that, but I don't drink alcohol. But thank you for asking," she replied sweetly, mouth moving a mile a minute.

The barkeep eyed her like she had sprouted a tail and muttered something uncomplimentary before waddling off to clean more glasses. Logan was fighting the urge to chuckle at how ridiculous the scene was when the lady finally seemed to notice him sitting there watching. She shrugged apologetically and managed a small but bright smile that highlighted a large set of buck teeth.

Things became quiet for a moment as a song about how a cowboy's wife left with his dogs droned on when a crash and some shuffling caused them to jump. One of the bikers in the corner, drunk off his ass by the smell alone, struggled to get free of his chair and stumbled up to the bar.

Logan turned ever so slightly as the drunkard reached the edge of the bar and caught himself before falling flat on his face.

"'Nother round, Patch, an' don't skimp out!" the dirty biker slurred. The barkeep moved slowly to fill the order, giving him time to focus his blurry eyes on the only woman that wasn't joining his friends as they continued their raunchy debacle. "Heya, chicky... Whatcha doin' all by yer lonesome?"

He gave her a lopsided grin that showed off how many of his teeth were missing. Logan's hackles started to rise in annoyance; he should have seen this from a mile away, should have acted quicker to usher the woman out of here before trouble started.

"We're having a little celebration over there," the biker continued to speak in the direction of the young woman's chest, waving a vague and off target hand over to his group, who had stopped to watch the new entertainment. "Why don't you come have a drink with us?

The girl seemed to shrink a little further into her heavy coat at the leery attention. "Oh, uh... Well, that's nice of you to offer, but I'm fine here and I really don't think-"

"Aw, c'mom, chicky! Its my birthday, ye see, an' it'd be a great present fer me if you'd come an' join us..."

"Girl said no."

All heads turned to watch as Logan calmly finished off his beer and set the mug back down with a soft clink. He wiped what was left off on his sleeve while meeting the bloodshot eyes of the mouthy man. "Leave her alone and go back to your drinking."

The biker sneered, "Don't see how it's any of your business, stranger."

Logan gave the man a hard glare. "I don't see how its any of yours, either."

More scraping and heavy footsteps came from the back of the dingy room. A good five of the biker's friends, not including the hookers, began to amble towards their friend who seemed to grow confidant enough to glare back at a rising Logan. The gang unsubtly placed themselves between Logan and the young woman, who had slipped off her own bar stool and was backing up to the wall quietly.

Logan rolled his neck and shoulders making a metallic popping sound as he put some distance between himself and the bar. Predictably all eyes followed his movement as the room grew tense before the fight that was brewing rapidly. It was five against one and Logan liked his odds, but it would only be fair to offer them one last shot.

"Look, pal. Why don't you and your friends move on to somewhere your own level. Before you start something you'll regret..." It wasn't spoken as a question.

As a response their leader proceeded to spit at his feet. "Screw you, we don't have to go nowhere. Patch..."

Logan's ears pricked up as a loose floorboard groaned behind him. Spinning before he even thought about it, he put his arm up in time to catch a well aimed baseball bat barreling down at his head courtesy of the bartender, who had gotten lost in the conflict. The bartender was swinging with all his considerable weight behind the blow but it wasn't enough as the bat splintered and cracked over the mutant's adamantium laced bones.

The fight had begun.


	3. Part 2: Bar Fight!

**Chapter 2**

* * *

Patch the bartender shuddered heavily under the vibration of the blow. He stumbled backwards and fell on his padded backside with a thud, stunned and still clutching the splintered handle of the baseball bat.

Logan didn't have much time to shake off the attack, even as his healing factor kicked in to take care of the bruises and lacerations from the wood splinters. The mouthy drunk took a poorly thought out lunge at his exposed back and looped his arms around the mutant's neck. Logan spun around, reaching up to grab at the biker's wrist and gave it a squeeze hard enough to break the smaller bones followed by an over-the-shoulder throw. The biker yowled with the pain of his broken wrist as the momentum sent him flying into a table, cracking it under the weight.

"Who's next?" he snarled even as the next member of the biker gang, a man who looked like a tank stuffed into a wife beater, took his place at the front of the line. A thick link-chain was wrapped around his meaty fist as a makeshift knuckle-duster, and he looked keen to use it.

Logan couldn't have asked for a better challenge. "All right. Come on then!" He took a running leap at the bruiser with a punch aimed for the man's face only to be brought down by what felt like a jackhammer to the side of his jaw. Logan went skidding across the filthy bar floor until colliding with a set of chairs.

Dazed, he tried to shake off the stars flashing before his eyes. He felt a stream of blood from where a link had busted his upper lip wide open. It was already closing up even as he wiped at the red stuff with the pad of his thumb.

The bruiser paused and scowled in fear and confusion. "Yer one of them mutie freaks!" he bellowed, uncoiling the length of chain around his fist and stomping forward to flog him.

Logan spit out what was left of the blood in his mouth. "Damn straight." With an audible "snikt" three adamantium blades, each a foot long, sprang from between his knuckles, gleaming dangerously in the low light.

The chain was swung up high before it was brought racing down at the mutant's midsection. Logan thrust his fist up in the air, snagging the chain through the links with his claws. With a mighty yank he pulled the chain, causing the bruiser to stumble forward. Logan kicked a heavy booted foot into the bruiser's kneecap, cracking it loudly.

Unable to stand the bruiser toppled towards Logan, who tried to roll out of the way but as the big guy was already falling when Logan kicked him it was too late to escape. A mass of muscle collided with the floor and Logan's lower body, the bruiser's thick head smacking against the floor and bringing him to merciful darkness.

"Dammit, get off me!" Logan growled from underneath the weighted pin as he began to squirm his way free.

Meanwhile, the three remaining members of the biker gang had managed to corral the lone young woman into a corner. She backpedaled until her body met wall, uttering a small squeak at the contact. A skinny fellow about the circumference of a broom handle stalked towards her, something metallic flashing as he tossed it between his hands.

The girl slowly raised both mittened hands up in front of her. "H-hey, fellas...I didn't mean to offend you or your friend or anything..."

"Then you shoulda played nice when we asked, chicky-poo." Skinny grinned wickedly and held up the silver object. It wasn't a gun as feared, but a cigarette lighter. He flicked it open and ignited the tip.

The young woman's eyes grew wide as the flame danced and licked the air. She gulped quite loudly and looked over past her attackers to her would be savior, who was heaving the limp body of the bruiser off his legs with agonizing grunts.

"Oh, gee, is that really the time? I totally lost track!" she asked out of nowhere, causing Skinny to glance in confusion at his companions. "I should, y'know...probably be going now!"

Three hands shot out to stop the girl, who somehow managed to swerve, dodge, and keep all three from grabbing her. While they didn't catch her, one grunt got lucky at pawing in the air and managed to snag the hood of her jacket, pulling roughly. The jacket was already too large for her to begin with, and in her fleeing it had no trouble being ripped off her body and falling to the floor.

One of the forgotten prostitutes let out a scream. All of the attackers quickly backed off. Logan, who had just managed to climb back on his feet, looked up sharply. His eyes grew wide just like the rest of them.

Standing in the middle of the room was the same young woman from before, but now...now she actually had a tail. An honest to God, big, bushy, furry brown tail that was twitching nervously behind her back like it had a life of its own. "She's a mutie, too!" another anonymous patron exclaimed.

The girl's wide doe eyes looked around the room to each person as they took it in; the biker gang and hookers were staring in fear and no small amount of disgust. Logan simply watched her carefully, silent but tense. Her eyes locked with his for a moment, then she shrugged and smiled sheepishly.

"Eh, nobody's perfect, I guess?"

Skinny's narrow face suddenly twisted into a look of rage and hate. He reached around the bar and pulled up a large bottle of liquor, slinging it as hard as he could at the girl. The girl gave a small shriek and lept out of the way as shards of glass went flying across the room.

"These damn freaks need to burn!" He then reignited his lighter and tossed it, too.

One of his comrades screeched in panic. "No! You stupid -!"

The lighter hit the booze-drenched, wooden floor and went up in a woosh. Everyone who was human and left conscious began to scream and cry out in panic. The flames started to engulf anything that had been soaked in alcohol for a long period of time, which was pretty much the entire bar and everything in it.

Logan coughed as smoke began to accumulate. At the very least the fire had neatly separated him and the girl from the rest of the bike gang, who were doing their best to abandon their friends and scramble to locate a back entrance.

"C'mon!" Logan barked. He grabbed the girl by her wrist, who was practically blinded by the smoke and squeaked at the unexpected contact, but let herself be dragged to freedom from the burning room.

The pair burst through the front door, flames licking at their heels. The young woman began gasping for the fresh night air as Logan surveyed the carnage of the Princess. The fire was burning rapidly now through the doors and windows and even catching on the wooden siding on the outside. He had a feeling not everyone was going to make it out before the entire place went down, but unless they wanted to go with it there was no point going back in.

Logan stepped back to where the girl was kneeled to catch her breath, hands resting on her knees. Her eyes were still watering from the smoke but her breathing was better. She looked up at him with a blurry gaze and coughed, "Thanks for that."

"No problem." He held out his hand to her. "Come on," he spoke far more gently this time. She looked at the offered hand for a second, furry tail still twitching, then broke out in one of the brightest smiles Logan had ever seen and placed her mitten in his grasp.

He gently helped her to her feet, then led her to his waiting motorcycle, instructing her to climb on behind him and to hold on tightly to his waist. The girl complied and swung her leg over the end, leaning stiffly on his back for support. With a twist of the throttle the engine roared underneath them.

"You got a name, kid?" Logan asked over his shoulder once he was sure she wouldn't fall off.

"Doreen!" she answered loudly over the rumble, tightening her grip around his middle. "But people tend to call me the Squirrel Girl!"

Logan snorted. "I can't imagine why..."

With that the pair rolled back onto the road and into the night, Squirrel Girl's bushy squirrel tail flying behind them in the wind.

-8-

No more than a few miles away from the Princess Bar, Agent Phil Coulson leaned lightly against the driver's side door of his S.H.I.E.L.D. leased Acura and watched idly as the numbers quickly climbed on the gasoline pump's window. He was polishing off a pack of mini powdered doughnuts (this particular station didn't seem to stock the chocolate ones) in muted content.

After the last one was gone and surveying the dim gas station lot once again, seeing that there wasn't a soul watching, he quickly licked the powdered sugar off his fingers before pulling out one of the many wet naps he tended to carry and wiped his hands clean. With a job like his, Coulson supposed he was entitled to one or two vices, no matter how cliche it was.

While he was checking his suit jacket and slacks over for incriminating white smudges, a tinny chirping began to sound from his lapel pocket. He gave his suit a final brush off then reached inside the jacket to retrieve a slim silver phone and activated it.

"Coulson... Wait wait, slow down. What happened?"

His brow furrowed as the junior agent on the other end started filling him in on events of the past hour. "Burned it down? That's not part of the MO we're used to... But you have a positive ID? What about casualties? Good. Just keep feeding the local authorities the 'faulty wiring ignited an alcohol spill' line, PR will take care of the owners. And the subject...?" Coulson shut off the pump and replaced the nozzle while squeezing the phone to his ear, waiting for the news on the mission.

"_They_ evaded surveillance? Who are _they_? We're only after the one..."

The agent dutifully informed his superior of what happened next, and realization dawned on Coulson. "Damn it to hell..." He wasn't prone to strong language on the job, it didn't show the proper amount of respect for the title, but this may have just turned into a more difficult situation than his people were prepared for.

"Call HQ, tell them to send Barton and the support team. And get back out there and find them! The sooner we do, the less collateral damage we're going to have to answer for."

Not that having an entire bar go down in ashes was going to look good on the paperwork.

Coulson clicked the connection off and slipped the phone back into his jacket while sliding into the driver's seat. Plan A of a nice, quiet resolution had officially gone out the metaphorical window, now it was time to bring out Plan B and hope to God that some of this could be salvaged before Fury has too much reason to chew him out.

Maybe he should have called in the Consultant...


	4. Interlude: Told You So

**Interlude**

* * *

_Rose's Place, Location Classified, Southwestern United States_

_Present Day_

"Told you." Stillwell smirked smugly around a mouthful of his second stack of pancakes. He sensed that Coulson had reached the middle of the recap and couldn't resist adding his two bits just to irk his colleague a little. "Didn't I tell you that morning before you left that you should have sent the Consultant to handle this?"

Coulson, who had finished his meal and was trying to enjoy an after breakfast cup of coffee, frowned into the mug like it had offended him.

"Stark would have been too volatile to handle this situation. He doesn't have the negotiation or people skills to deal with this one, particularly if we wanted a positive outcome in our favor."

"You just don't like him."

"That wouldn't be professional of me to say whether I cared for Stark or not."

"But you don't."

Coulson glared in silence over the table at Stillwell, who continued to smirk and cut a triangular shaped piece from his pancake. The only noise was the clink of silverware on the plate, a low tune from the jukebox in the corner, and the occasional kitchen noise from the back of the counter. Stillwell finished chewing the bite of syrupy goodness, waiting for the story to continue. Coulson seemed content to remain in silence, however.

The tension peaked, and Stillwell couldn't take it any longer. "So...?" he prompted.

"So what?" Coulson asked in an nonchalant, almost petulant tone.

"What happened after you received the phone call?"

"I thought we were talking about whether I liked or disliked Stark."

"Come on, Coulson, just finish the story..."

"Are you going to let me?"

Stillwell gave a suffering sigh. "Yes, okay?" He waved him on dramatically. "Please continue..."

"Fine." Coulson drained the dregs of his coffee and exhaled. "I regrouped with the surveillance group while we waited for the deployment and arrival of the support team. They had tracked the subject and their new found ally to a motel down the highway from the bar..."


	5. Part 3: Getting to Know You

**Chapter 3**

* * *

_Upstate New York_

_One week ago._

Logan and Doreen rode into the night, putting distance between themselves and the burning Princess Bar. Once or twice they were passed on the highway by squads of rescue vehicles, making Logan open up the bike's throttle just a little more. At one point he thought he spotted an unmarked black car along with the fire trucks and ambulances, but he couldn't be too sure that it was the same one that pulled him over earlier.

All the same, he had a suspicion that someone was watching them.

Logan considered taking his new squirrely friend back to the X-Mansion for safe keeping, but there were two flaws in that plan. One, they were heading in a northern but completely opposite direction and going back would mean passing by the scene of the crime. Not that they were in many ways responsible, but the cops weren't likely to see things that way.

And two, if someone from the government, or multiple someones, were keeping track of his whereabouts, the last place he needed to lead them was a school full of adolescent mutants.

A yawn echoed close to his ear and Doreen huddled closer to his body for warmth. Regardless if somebody was tracking their movements, Logan was going to have to stop soon. A little shut-eye didn't sound so bad as long as whoever was watching them didn't decide to make a move. Plus, fur or not, the winter's night wind generated by the motorcycle was icy and Doreen had lost her jacket back at the Princess.

Did squirrel based mutants like to hibernate in the winter? He couldn't begin to guess, but imagined it would be an inconvenience.

They passed a little motel sitting along the highway. Logan circled back to it and pulled the bike in the shadows of the front office. As he got off, Doreen shuddered from the lose of warmth and wrapped her bushy tail around herself.

"_Brr_," her over sized front teeth clattered together between wind reddened cheeks. "We didn't have weather like this in... well, it wasn't like this back home."

Without much of a second thought, Logan unlatched and stripped of his favorite leather jacket, reaching over to drape it over Squirrel Girl's shoulders. "Here," he gruffed as the heavy leather almost encompassed her slight frame.

Doreen almost looked bewildered by the generosity for a second, then broke out in a luminous smile. "Thanks, but what about you? Aren't you cold?" She glanced at his thin flannel shirt, the sleeves of which only went to his elbows.

"I've been colder," Logan shrugged off her concern. "Now stay put and I'll get you someplace warm to stay the night."

Her head bobbled obediently from within the warm depths of his jacket as Logan left to see what kind of rooms they had available at this hour.

-8-

Around the back of the motel's main unit, a nondescript white van baring the name 'Stanlee's Satellite Service' remained parked and shadowed from view of the highway. Its engine was off and no one occupied the cab. There were no signs of life at all until a lone figure in a set of navy overalls began to approach the utility vehicle.

The figure walked around to the back of the van, suspiciously checked that no one was within his line of vision, then knocked four times on the door. The door cracked open and a greenish electronic light spilled out, revealing that inside there were no tools for repairing satellite television receivers.

Instead there was a range of advanced surveillance equipment, most of which displayed a Stark Industries logo, and a duo of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents monitoring it all. The man in overalls looked up at his partners.

"Tell the boss that we found them."

-8-

Doreen sat at the foot of the single, lumpy bed in a darkened motel room, knees drawn up to her chest and tail slowly swishing over the sheets. She was watching the strange hairy man with interest as he stared out the window, carefully concealing himself with the curtain. He was...well, a bit of an oddball for lack of a better description.

She had figured he was a mutant, no question there. Not everyone can have metal...spike things come out of the back their hands, but that was not what made him odd.

According to her definition of odd, at least.

She had been in the bar just to keep warm for awhile, but she couldn't help but people-watch. She liked to think that she could read others, even if she was never able to get close to anyone. Mostly they were just typical customers to a place like that; there to get drunk and...er, do other things Doreen didn't like to think about.

When her savior walked in, though, Doreen knew something was different about him. Call it intuition, instinct, or just good people watching skills, she knew right off he wasn't typical.

Then he proved her right when trouble started, standing up for her honor and everything, like someone would only do in movies and television. She thought that was a really, really sweet thing to do. It actually made her blush a little to think someone would care enough; usually Doreen had to deal with those type of things alone.

And he certainly dealt with it. Doreen was afraid for the stranger at first, seeing that baseball bat go for the back of his head. She was just about ready to do some defending of her own before she watched him block and retaliate. It was like watching something between a dancer and a pro cage fighter.

No, he wasn't typical at all. Then she had other things to consider...

Even when she lost her coat and her furry little problem was out for the world to see, he didn't seem to care. Usually other people tended to scream and run away when they saw her tail... Even the handful of other mutants she had met on the streets had shied away when they found out.

He saved her again, from the fire, and again when he offered a ride on his motorcycle right when Doreen was wondering where she would go now. Never let it be said that Squirrel Girl was not grateful for being shown acts of kindness, however rare they were, but Doreen just couldn't figure why this one man was being this nice.

They had never met before, she didn't have any money or anything valuable to to give, her wallet, and what meager remains of her savings were left, was lost in the blaze with her coat. She certainly wasn't going to do..._that_, though she didn't think he would ask. If fact he hadn't asked for anything in return. He had barely even spoken to her.

He was a tough nut to crack.

Nuts. Now she remembered she was hungry...

"Excuse me...," she started out of the quiet that had fallen. It occurred to Doreen she had no idea what to call him. "Uh... What's your name again?"

"It's Logan," he rumbled, eyes watching the motel parking lot like a hawk.

"Oh... Is that your first name or last name?" She couldn't help but ask. Logan turned to look at her, one hairy eyebrow raised, but didn't answer. "Oh, uh... Right. Well... Thank you again, Mister Logan, for stepping in and fighting those guys off. That was nice of you."

"You can stop thanking me, kid. Its fine..." Logan closed the curtain back tight then strode over to the raggedy armchair in the corner. The chair gave a loud 'whump' as he practically collapsed into it, but it held together. "Besides, they had it coming."

Doreen shrugged and looked off to the other side of the small room. A mirror that had once been ornate was hanging over a pressed wood dresser. She caught her reflection and saw how her eyes had a red glow about them in the dark, even though she could see perfectly fine. When they came in Logan suggested leaving all the lights off, in case the police were looking for suspects he told her, and she had agreed. The dark never bothered her.

"I guess they did start it," she admitted quietly.

Logan made an agreeing noise then fell silent. Doreen continued to watch herself as her tail rose up behind her and swayed back and forth.

Even if the thing did cause her a lot of problems, Doreen knew she could never give up having a tail. That's why she never even gave a second thought about taking that 'cure' that everyone got so hyped up about a few months ago.

Having a tail just...felt right, odd as it was to other people. It was a part of her in more ways than one, part of who she was inside and out.

Responding to her thoughts about it her tail stopped its rhythmic swaying and rested its tip on her shoulder. Doreen smiled and stroked the fur like it was a beloved pet. That was another benefit to having a tail; she always had something soft to cuddle up with.

She felt Logan's eyes tracking the movement of her tail. "So. That all?" The question confused her for a second. "Is that all of your mutation? A tail?" he clarified.

"Oh. No, there's more..." Doreen swung her legs over the edge of the bed and began to peel her mittens away from her hands. Logan waited in silence as she removed the last of the wooly fabric and held up both of her hands for inspection, fingers splayed wide. On each digit's tip, where a fingernail would normally be, grew a tiny but sharp looking claw. She wriggled her fingers a bit, stretching the joints out after finally being free of the restrictive gloves.

"Their on my toes, too," she explained as he observed. "It makes it easy to climb things. I'm good at climbing, not that its surprising with me being called 'Squirrel Girl' and all. Its just kinda what I do, y'know?"

Whether he really understood her talent or inclination to scale tall objects or not, Mister Logan at least nodded in acceptance when Doreen had finished rambling and settled back into the chair. "That's not so bad. It could be worse..."

While she had been happy to rattle on about the talons her hands and toes, her face fell when he said that. Doreen dropped her eyes to the dirty carpet and fidgeted on the springy mattress, causing it to creak. Concern came over Logan's face at the sudden change in mood. He leaned forward again. "You all right?"

Doreen caught sight of this and flinched before her mind reminded her that he still didn't know her, couldn't know...

She shook her head and smiled in embarrassment. "Sorry. Just... That's not all of it. Here..." Doreen held her hand out again, this time making a tight fist. Her face scrunched in on itself as she concentrated and, with a tiny gasp of pain, a small shaft of bone burst through the skin stretched over her knuckles. Logan's eyes grew wide in the dim light shining through the shabby curtains.

Doreen whimpered once and clutched her limb with her other hand. The spike was far shorter than the blades she had seen Mister Logan use at the bar; hers was only about two to three long from the base and the point was far from sharp.

"I'll be damned," Logan muttered. He rubbed at his own forearm in a sympathetic gesture.

"I...I don't like using these," she confessed from between clenched teeth. "It makes my whole arm feel like its on fire." Doreen grew quiet as she focused, and with effort the spike withdrew back into its sheath of muscle. The skin between her fingers began to knit itself back together until there was only a bead of blood left, which she tried to wipe off but only succeeded in smearing it over the back of her hand.

They sat like that, in complete silence, both lost in their on thoughts. Doreen wrapped her tail around her stomach and held it close while she tried to soothe the remaining dull ache in her limb. What would Logan do now? Her past experiences told her that he might leave, wash his hands of the whole thing and wouldn't look back. If he did, then maybe at least he would let her stay in the motel room for the night. It was getting awfully cold and there was only so much warmth a bushy furred tail could provide...

Logan was the first to break the silence. He stood from the chair and grabbed his coat from its back.

"I'm going to make a phone call..."

Doreen's head shot up in panic, thinking instantly that the police would be here soon for her. Her voice cracked more than she intended as she couldn't help but ask a question again. "Wh-who are you going to call?"

The older mutant shrugged his broad shoulders into the arms of the leather jacket. "I have some friends nearby, other mutants who run a school for people like us," he answered honestly. "They'll definitely want to talk to you."

Doreen's eyes grew wide. "A school? For mutants?" she echoed, unsure she had heard right. The thought seemed like such a foreign concept. As she thought about it, though, the pit of dread in her stomach began to shrink and was replaced with the hunger she had felt a few minutes ago.

Logan smirked. "Yeah. I'll be right back." He turned to the door and went to turn the knob when Doreen stopped him.

"Oh! Wait. I thought I saw some snack machines by the office. Would you mind getting me something? I'm a little hungry, and I think I have some quarters left..." She began to pat and dig around her pockets in search of any loose change that wasn't left behind to burn in the fire.

Logan shook his head and waved off her search. "Don't worry about it, kid, I've got it covered."

Doreen smiled gratefully, buck teeth nibbling at her lower lip. "Would you mind getting something with nuts? Anything will do, thank you."

Logan smirked as he ducked out the door. "Sure, kid..."

-8-

Logan listened as the communicator rang once, twice as he eyed the meager selection of foodstuffs the motel vending machine had to offer. It was well past three in the morning, most of the school's occupants were likely in bed, or should have been, but he was more than confident that the senior members of the staff would be on call at any time. Sure enough, he was rewarded with an answering click and the voice of Ororo. From the sound of it, she had not been asleep at all.

_"Logan! My god, are you all right?"_

His brows furrowed in confusion. "Yeah, everything's fine. What's wrong?"

_"It was all over the police scanners, about a bar that caught on fire close to here."_ He heard her sigh in frustration. _"They're saying it looks suspicious. I thought- Maybe-"_

"You hear about a bar burning down and you instantly think I had something to do with it, huh?" Logan smirked into the reciever, now finding her concern now more amusing than worrying. Never mind that he was actually involved in that incident, but he wouldn't worry her with those details tonight.

_"It was a fair assumption,"_ Ororo shot back, causing Logan to bite back on a chuckle. _"Where are you now?"_

"About fifty miles north of Westchester, but we've got other things to worry about." Logan exhaled, his breath fogging in front of him. "I found another one."

There was a beat of silence, then, _"Another runaway?"_ Ever since the fallout from Alcatraz, ostracized mutants in the area had taken to using the mansion as a safe haven of sorts. Most of older ones simply passed through, looking to find a better place of there own but a few younger mutants decide to stay on as students. Their numbers had swelled to a point that Logan hoped would make Xavier proud. _"Were they heading for the school?"_

"Don't think so, she sounded surprised when I mentioned it. Says her name is Doreen but she also goes by 'Squirrel Girl.'"

_"Squirrel-? Never mind, it will make sense when I see her, I'm sure. I'll have Kitty search the databases for missing persons with that name."_

"Good plan." He used his free hand to rub at the back of his neck where the metallic joints never seemed to be free of a kink. "Listen, with the cops on alert its going to be hard to-"

Logan stopped. It was faint but he could have sworn- no, there it was again. The mutant's hackles began to rise as he glanced suspiciously over his shoulder and sniffed at the air. His eyes darted across every darkened corner in the parking lot.

_"Logan? What happened? What's going on?"_

There. Just on the edge of the street lamp's pale circle of light, a shadow retreats back towards the sparse evergreen growth surrounding the buildings. A scent carried over from a chill wisp of air.

The scent of reprocessed air and metal.

_"Are you there? Logan!"_

"Can you trace this line?" Logan breathed into the phone, his voice going harsh and low as his whole frame tensed up.

_"We'll find you, Logan, but what's wrong?"_

"Someone's watching," he spoke quickly and quietly. "Bring Hank, get here as soon as you can. I'll keep the girl hidden for as long as I can."

_"Be careful."_

Logan ended the call and squeezed the phone tightly in his fist. If these people were who he believed them to be, this had the potential to end very badly. For them, at least, if they were lucky.

Slipping the communicator back into his jean pocket, Logan made a quick path back to the room where Doreen was waiting, his eyes watching the edges of shadows the entire way.


	6. Part 4: Confrontation

**Chapter** 4

* * *

After the excitement and exhausting series events of the evening, the allure of real, warm bed after so long a time being on the move was proving to be a temptation to Doreen as she waited on Mister Logan to return. In the quiet and darkness of the motel room she took a moment to luxuriously stretch herself out over the duvet, enjoying the feeling of a soft mattress beneath her, before comfortably curling up on one side with her tail acting as a furry blanket.

For the moment, Doreen could allow herself to believe that things were finally looking up for her at last. It had been months since she left home with nothing but a pocket full of her meager savings and a hope of finding a better life away from all the troubles she had brought to her family.

Not on purpose, of course, she hadn't asked for buck teeth and a tail for her birthday or anything of the sort. But once it all came, home life had been nothing but fighting and fear. Her mother feared for her safety, feared of the government's ever changing policies on mutants, feared of what the neighbors down the street would think of little Doreen Green now that she was all grown up and had fur in awkward places. There was little time to care whether Doreen was actually okay with things and even happy to be something different. Something special...

Then the Cure came, and that was the breaking point. Her mother had all but disowned her daughter when she had refused to go to the clincs. Doreen had tried, really tried that night to explain one last time to talk to her, get her to understand that everything was actually okay.

Her mother suggested that it would be best for everyone if she left, so she did.

Doreen still tried to keep in contact. She did love her mother dearly and didn't hold any of this against her. Every time she had the chance she would mail a letter, telling them about her traveling and letting everyone know that she was all right. There had yet to be a response back, but Doreen figured with all the moving around that it must have been difficult to find the correct return address.

She sighed into the shadows and curled up tighter around herself. Maybe things would be different now. Maybe she'd have a semi-permanent place to live and she could stay in touch with her family this time. Maybe things could be better at last...

Then the door to the motel room burst wide open and Doreen jerked back from almost falling asleep and screamed.

"Quiet! Its me." Logan hushed and reassured her as he slammed the door shut and locked it tight. Now that she was awake Doreen sat rigidly straight up in the bed and watched, wide eyed and still recovering from the shock. When Mister Logan had made sure the door was secure he turned to face her, face grim. "We have a problem."

"We-what?" she asked, her mind still trying to catch up to the racing of her heart.

Logan for his part seemed far more in his element in thought as he pulled the curtains tightly closed. "There's someone watching the parking lot, probably multiple someones trying to stay hidden. They're looking for us."

It felt like a bucket of ice water ran down her back. Doreen swallowed thickly as she tried to stay calm. "H-how do you know its us they're looking for?"

"I don't," Logan answered brusquely as he visually searched the four flimsy walls surrounding them. "But I don't plan on sticking around to find out for sure. There a back way outta this place?"

-8-

Things had fallen silent throughout the motel and surrounding trees. No one had dared leave their rooms, at least not after they had heard a scream that was suddenly silenced without any explanation. The 'Vacancy' sign flickered in the same incomprehensible pattern it always did on the side of the highway and somewhere far off an owl had the audacity to call out to its mate.

It remained that way for a moment longer, before a set of three adamantium claws pierced the back wall of the main building of the motel.

The claws moved upward, then to the left, then down, and finally to the right. Seconds later they were retracted and a heavy booted kick brought the section of wall falling outwards, leaving a hole just large enough for a grown man to duck through.

Logan stepped through the newly created exit first and scouted their surroundings quickly before reaching back and helping the girl step over the debris. Doreen straightened back up once out on the other side, taking a moment to brush some drywall dust off her pants.

"Well, that was one way of doing it," she commented nervously.

Logan paid no attention to the comment. "Stay close, but if I tell you to run, you run. Understood?"

Doreen's eyes grew wide at the implications, but she nodded her agreement. "What do we do if- _ee_!"

Her question was cut off by an arrow embedding itself into the wall, mere inches from where the two mutants were standing. Logan instinctively placed himself bodily between Doreen and the unseen archer, eyes darting every which way. Sure enough, perched just out of reach on a thick branched pine tree was a man in some form of dark body armor. He knocked another bolt into a compound bow and took careful aim.

"All right, folks. Let's consider that a warning shot," the man quipped lightly. "Now, how 'bout we do this the easy way, and nobody has to be turned into a pin cushion."

Logan growled, "Like hell you will..." He could sense Doreen as she edged away slowly, ready to bolt. He had to keep this new punk's attention on himself before he decided to switch targets. With a flex of his forearms Logan popped both sets of claws. "Why don't you cut the Robin Hood bullshit and come try it for yourself?"

"Ooh, shiny." The punk in the tree smirked. "At least I tried to reason with you, but I've don't have any problems with taking you down, claw-man."

As the archer tensed his arm to pull the string taught, Logan dashed forward with his arms wide, prepared to take a running leap into the tree to get at him. The archer merely adjusted his aim and let the bolt fly a split second later, where it went soaring until it buried its tip into the soft part of Logan's shoulder.

Logan skidded as the force of the arrow brought to a hault. Pain and Doreen's panicked cries was tinting the edges of his vision red. With a teeth baring snarl, he reached up and pulled at the shaft of the arrow. It ripped the hole in his arm wider, exposing metallic bone, but when the point became free Logan tossed the thing to the side. He wanted to make this punk bleed for that.

The archer cocked an eyebrow as his bolt was thrown aside and the wound it made began to close on its own accord. "A guy that can heal... Great. This is going to be real fun."

Even as Logan began a second run towards his perch, the archer jumped back off the branch and hooked the rough surface with both hands. Momentum caused him to swing forward until both of his combat boots connected with the center of Logan's chest, pushing the mutant forcibly backwards.

Logan shifted to roll with the blow, canceling most of the force behind it. The archer had dropped to his feet on the ground and prepared another shot as Logan came up in a crouch. Almost as soon as the arrow was released he raised one arm in a powerful swiping motion that sliced the shaft into multiple, completely useless pieces.

The two combatants closed the distance and Logan took his own aim with multiple stabbing jabs. This put the archer into the defensive, but he managed to dodge or block every attack, using his bow much like a bow staff to keep Logan's fists wide and away from his person.

Suddenly, with no time for hesitation, Logan saw an opening in the man's defenses. He brought his fist up and swung it diagonally with as much speed and force as he could muster.

"_Gyaah_!" The archer gave his own snarl as he dropped the two halves of his prized, and now destroyed, bow. There was no time to mourn the weapon as he ducked another right cross to his skull and threw himself to the side to put more space between him and the claws. It was becoming clear that continuing with close quarters combat was not going to end this quickly enough.

The archer came up on one knee and with a fluid movement unholstered a gun from his hip and trained it on Logan's skull. Not that it would have a great effect on someone with a healing factor, but its sudden appearance made Logan pause in his ruthless attack.

_*Chrriuup churt! Clickclickclick cheecoo...*_

The sounds came unexpectedly from the trees. Both Logan and the archer looked around in confusion for the source, and found themselves staring back into several pairs of small glowing eyes.

Squirrels. They were surrounded by squirrels. Squirrels that somehow managed to convey that they were very, very angry...

"Huh." The muzzle of the gun was lowered slightly. "That... That I was not expecting..."

-8-

"- ETA five minutes and counting. We'll see you here, sir."

Coulson waited for the call to be disconnected before slipping the phone back into his jacket and switching to his headset communicator. So far Plan B seemed to be going well; the support team had made good time arriving at the last known location of the subject and securing the shoddy motel and surrounding property. Six S.H.I.E.L.D agents remained with Coulson by the surveillance van while ten more took up the perimeter. They were, for all intents and purposes, as ready for anything as they could possibly be. Now they only had to wait for confirmation from there special agent.

"Barton, do you have visuals of the target?" He was answered with silence. Coulson frowned and depressed the communications button again. "Barton, do you copy?"

A scream, female in origin, echoed from behind the motel. Coulson and the other agents instantly drew there revolvers. Using silent gestures he motioned for three men to follow him with the rest to guard their rear as they made a careful slow approach across the parking lot towards the source of the scream.

They were almost to the shelter of the building's overhang when there was a flash of movement from the trees. All guns snapped to attention and Coulson halted the agents as Agent Barton came barreling around the corner. Blood was trickling from what looked like a long scratch along his forehead, and he was waving frantically for them to move away.

"Not that way! Not that way!" Clint called out as he ran towards them, and Coulson soon saw why. There appeared to be a sea of furry brown animals chasing Agent Barton from behind the building, all of them screeching viciously at the expert marksman. Where they had came from Coulson could only guess at, but there seemed to be only one sensible course of action.

He raised his weapon to the night sky and fired off three shots. The loud noise caused the squirrels to panic, retaliation turning to fear as they began to scatter off back into their woodland home. Clint had stopped running and was trying to regain some composure.

"Thanks for that, sir," Barton exhaled once speech had returned to him. He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, wiping it clear of blood. "Vicious little bastards..."

Coulson nodded, "Anytime." Now that he was closer, he could see that there were a large number of other, smaller cuts and scratches marking their marksman, though none seemed to be a serious threat to Barton's continued existence.

"Stop, don't shoot them!" Coulson lifted both his head and his gun. A young woman ran around the motel after the squirrels had dissipated. "They were only trying to help!"

She was followed closely by a hirsute man in a bloodied shirt who seemed to be trying to get her to go in the opposite direction. Once the man noticed he had seven visible guns (plus the ones from the perimeter guard by now) trained on them he protectively pulled the girl behind him.

Clint cursed under his breath. "The guy can heal himself," he informed Coulson in a low voice. "And he has a pretty nasty set of... finger blade things. You owe me a new bow, by the way."

"Not now, Barton." Coulson stepped past the special agent and his team to address the two mutants directly.

While he was waiting for the support team to arrive he had search the S.H.I.E.L.D Level Seven mobile databanks for information on the man they had suspected, correctly, to be the one involved in the situation. To say he had a colorful background would be an understatement of epic proportions, but Phil was certainly well aware of what he was capable of, and he was starting to doubt that they had enough agents to defuse this without a messy outcome.

Recognition flashed over the man's face, followed by anger. "You... What the hell do you people want?"

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to stand down. I'm Agent Coulson with the Strategic Homeland Intervention-"

"Save the bullshit for someone who cares," the man snarled, while the young woman looked on wide-eyed but amazingly calm for the circumstances.

Coulson pulled a tight smile and inclined his head as casually as he could manage while still having his weapon drawn. "We're here for the girl."

_*snikt*_

Phil glanced at the set of claws that had emerged from the man's tightly clenched fists. "...Perhaps I should phrase that in a different way," he conceded while keeping his gun steady and simultaneously wondering if he had just signed his agents' death warrants.

"**That's enough**!"

An odd sense of relief washed over Coulson as Director Fury emerged from the shadows of their surveillance van where he had no doubt been watching this show unfold since his arrival. His face was stern and his demeanor was all black coat and business as he strided fearlessly into the center of the danger. "Stand your men down, Coulson."

"Sir," Coulson greeted his superior before waving off the three men behind them. Almost gratefully they lowered their weapons and began a strategic retreat back to the van.

Fury approached the man with the claws and the young woman with a bushy tail without hesitation, his eye sizing them up. The older mutant did the same, his face hard and defensive but wary of the Director's sudden appearance.

"You the leader of these yahoos?" the mutant harshly asked. Fury fixed the mutant with a hard glare.

"We need to talk."


	7. Part 5: Decisions

**Chapter 5**

* * *

Logan chose a booth in the roadside greasy spoon his agents had commandeered in the name of the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement Logistics Division, whatever the hell that was. He could see the men in black standing guard outside through the glass, speaking into their gadgets with the idea of keeping nonexistent patrons out... or them inside.

The staff were ushered into the back with the promise of compensation for the inconvenience. The man calling himself Director Fury helped himself to the coffee machine and, after Logan refused some of the brew, sat across from the mutant with a hot mug.

As far as having a glaring contest with a one-eyed man, Logan felt he held his own in the silence, until Fury turned his head a fraction and he was given a better look at the eye patch.

"These look familiar?" Fury asked, referring to the three parallel lines of scar tissue running underneath the patch.

Logan glanced at the facial damage, then focused back on the Director's good eye. "Do I know you, bub?"

"Maybe you do," Fury answered vaguely as he reached for a packet of sugar. "Then again, maybe you don't. Word has it that you're still having trouble remembering a few things. Its understandable, considering your age and situation."

Logan tensed, his fist clenching under the table. "Whatever the hell you know about me-"

"I know enough," Fury interrupted. "To know that you've mellowed that fighting temper of yours these past few years and found a higher calling. Xavier seemed to have that effect on people, mutant or human."

His anger lessened at the name drop of the late Professor. "You knew Charles?"

Fury shrugged as he took a drink of his coffee. "We've shared information in the past, and for the most part I left him and his school for gifted kids alone in exchange for his services on occasion," he smiled grimly. "Its always a smart idea to be in the good graces of a telepath. I was sorry to hear of his death."

Logan contemplated this new information. A beneficial past with Chuck wasn't nearly enough to earn Fury his full trust, but he became more willing to hear him out. "You didn't come all this way to talk about Xavier."

"No. I did not," Fury agreed. He set his mug down and reached inside of his leather trench coat. From it he pulled out a plain manilla folder and slid it across the table. "I also know, Logan, that you're a good man. If you weren't, we wouldn't be having this conversation. I'm confident you'll do the right thing here."

Those words gave Logan pause, but he reached for the folder.

Inside was a series of small time newspaper articles from across the country. The first one was from Arizona and declared 'Mutant Good Samaritan Foils Purse Snatching.' The next one had bold print stating 'Car Thief Receives Furry Justice' in Nebraska, and was accompanied by a blurry photograph of a young woman leaping up the trunk of a tree, a multitude of branch dwelling rodents following.

The rest of the articles were more of the same, stories of a mysterious girl with a squirrel's tail foiling the ambitions of petty criminals from Michigan to West Virginia. There were seven clippings in total like this, then Logan reached the last piece of paper.

'Bank Robber Dies After Attack From Mutant Vigilante.' Apparently two ambitious thieves in Delaware had tried to make their fortune the quick and easy way only to face the wrath of Squirrel Girl. One had received a blow to the head for his troubles and was hospitalized. His brain began to hemorrhage not long after and he passed on the operating table. A police quote told that information on the assailant was sketchy, but once they were caught they were to be charged with murder of the highest degree.

Logan sighed as he replaced the article and closed the folder, a heavy weight settled in his stomach. He looked Fury in the eye. "Are you going to arrest her?"

"No." Fury's voice was low. "We're here to save her."

-8-

On the other side of the restaurant, Doreen happily tucked into the steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup sat before her. When Mister Logan had told her that there were people after them, then being shot at with arrows, then running into a squad of guns pointing directly at her... Well, no one in their right mind would expect to get a hot meal at the end of it. Not that she would complain; it was good soup.

Seated across from her was the archer guy from the tree, who she had learned was named Clint. There was a bandage of almost comical size wound around his forehead, but it didn't seem to impede his ability to shove bites of syrup soaked waffles into his mouth.

"Sorry about before," he said as he looked up from his plate. "Y'know, with the arrows and the brawling with your hairy friend. It was just business."

Doreen smiled shyly at the apology. "Its okay, I guess. Nobody was hurt." Then she looked up at the gauze and cringed. "Oh, well... I'm sorry about the, um... The squirrels. Didn't mean for that to happen..."

Clint grinned around a mouthful of waffle. "No hard feelings, you live and you learn. In fact, I learned not to underestimate the might of a woman who can talk to squirrels." This enticed a laugh from Doreen, to which Clint seemed to be satisfied with.

"How are you holding up, Miss Green?" They both looked up to find that Agent Coulson had returned from checking on the guards outside with a cup of coffee in hand. He slid into the booth next to Clint, who muttered something about boss men and personal space but quickly went back to his very early breakfast.

"I'm all right now, thank you." Doreen found that Mister Coulson was far less threatening when he was not pointing a pistol at anyone. After everyone had stood down from the standoff, he had given her a sweatshirt with an eagle logo to keep her warm. It was far too large for her small frame, but it was soft and smelt very nice besides keeping her cozy in the cold. That went a long way to making up for the gun.

Doreen dragged her spoon through the vegetables that had sunk to the bottom of the chicken broth as she thought about how to ask the biggest question running through her head.

"There's something I don't understand, though... I heard you say, Mister Coulson, that you were here for.. for me? Why?"

Clint stopped eating and glanced over at Agent Coulson, who set his coffee mug down. "Fair question. S.H.I.E.L.D. is an organization that monitors world security issues and deals with them accordingly. Recently, a major part of that effort has been in monitoring certain individuals with... well, superhuman attributes."

"You mean mutants...," Doreen frowned. She didn't think she liked where this was going anymore...

"Not always," Coulson quickly clarified. "We try to avoid becoming involved in mutant-human politics as much as possible, and S.H.I.E.L.D. is officially neutral on the subject. On rare occasions, however, what a person does with their abilities warrants special attention."

Doreen amended her previous thought. This was becoming far worse. "So... So you know... about...?"

"The incident in Delaware, yes," he nodded solemnly. "We're aware of what happened. Our people are already working to clear everything up with the local law enforcement agency there. By noon today they'll have realized their information was incorrect and that the death was an accident, albeit an unfortunate one."

"He's trying to say that we're not here to arrest you," Clint supplied helpfully between waffles, earning him a stern look from Coulson.

Doreen exhaled the breath she didn't even know she had been holding. She had started imagining what the inside of a jail cell made to hold mutants would look like, but it didn't seem she would be finding out for sure any time soon.

"Far from it." Phil looked away from Barton and back to Doreen. "S.H.I.E.L.D. is also aware of the crime stopping actions you've had a hand in across the country. Its small time stuff, but our recruitment agents are impressed. Not an easy thing to accomplish. They've put this together for you."

He held out a large charcoal envelope with the same logo as her sweatshirt printed on the front.

Doreen stared at it with wide eyes, flabbergasted. Could they have meant what she thought they meant? She tried to keep her hand from shaking as she reached out to take it, but she couldn't completely fight down the little thrill of excitement at what this could mean. "Are you offering me a... a _job_?"

"To be specific we're offering you a position within our agent training program," Coulson smiled. "Whether it becomes a job later on is up to your performance. All the information you need is there. You can browse it at your leisure, but we'll need an answer soon. Do you have any questions?"

"I have one," Clint piped up. He pointed the end of his syrupy fork at Doreen. "I have to know; is the tail real or fake? Its been bugging me the entire time."

Doreen's cheeks flushed pink, her mouth working but no sound coming out, while Coulson looked like he was ready to taser the marksman then and there. Neither got the chance to answer Barton as one of the agents standing guard came inside and made directly for their table. He leaned over Coulson and said, "They're here."

-8-

"Logan!"

Logan ignored the S.H.I.E.L.D agents keeping their eyes on him as he strode across the diner's front lot to where Ororo and Hank were trying to get through. Both had donned their team uniforms and if the guards were wary of Logan, they outright shied away from the blue furred mutant. Doctor Henry McCoy, for all his well spoken mannerisms and gentleness, still made a striking impression which was something Logan had counted on.

The trio of X-Men came together in the open gravel parking lot. Ororo looked as if she wanted to hug him again, and Logan would have let her, if not for all the extra eyes watching them. Hank adjusted the glasses perched on the end of his broad nose as he spoke first. "I see your penchant for bringing mayhem hasn't abated during my absence, my boy."

"Who are these people?" Ororo asked as she looked around at all the suits, then noticed the blood still staining his shirt. "And what happened to you?"

Logan sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck. Suddenly he really wanted to skip the whole thing and just get some sleep. "Its a long story, 'Ro. I'll tell you when we're back at the mansion."

The sounds of gravel crunching came from behind the three. Fury had followed Logan out of the diner and was coming up to join them. "Ambassador McCoy," he nodded towards Hank. "Can't say I expected to see you here."

"Nor I you, Colonel," Henry returned. The two employees of the government had obviously known each other from some past meeting, though neither offered the other a hand to shake. "I wasn't aware that your agency had changed its policy on non-interference in mutant affairs."

"Policies change everyday, Doctor, we both know that." Fury folded his arms across his chest in an imposing manner.

"Am I the only one who doesn't know who this guy is?" Logan rumbled in complaint to no one in particular.

Ororo, who was not impressed by Fury's bravado, stepped up with her own manner of authority. "What about the girl? Doreen," she insisted. "What reason do you have to detain her?"

"The girl is fine," Fury held up a hand in an effort to placate her concerns. "She's inside with two of my best men. As I was telling Logan, we have no intention of holding her or anyone else here under arrest. Miss Green is free to leave with you at any time, if that is what she chooses to do."

"If she chooses," Hank echoed back. He finally removed his glasses to get a clear look at the Director. "Nicholas, you make it sound as if you are trying to enlist this girl into your ranks."

"And you didn't come here to do the same?" Fury scowled. "Look, I told Xavier I'd leave his ragtag squadron alone, and I'm going to hold to that, but Green is of age and a citizen of the United States. Last time I checked, Doctor, under your proposed 'Mutant Equality Act' that gives her the right to choose what she does or doesn't do with her life. Its all on her."

Logan looked past Fury back to the diner. He could see Doreen through the window, she was laughing at something that punk with the bow had said. She looked content to be there, happy, _safe_. How long that would last would be anyone's guess. Wherever Doreen went and whatever she did, it would be dangerous for the young mutant woman. Xavier's mansion would be no different than wherever S.H.I.E.L.D took her; she would still have to fight for her place in the a world that feared her, just on a different battlefield. Maybe she would even have a better shot at it than he or any of the X-Men ever would going at it on their own.

Something Xavier had once said came back to him: _The lesser of the two evils_. In the end, everything came down to a choice, better or worse. Dealing with the consequences just came with the territory.

It was up to Doreen to make hers.


	8. Epilogue: And So It Begins

**Epilogue**

* * *

_Present Day_

Coulson drained the last of the coffee from his mug, his third of the morning-now-early-afternoon, and set it down for collection by the waitress. The last part was always the most bittersweet, and a bit grainy from undissolved sugar, but it was the part he liked best.

He looked across the table where Stillwell was watching him right back, brow furrowed in incredulity and the remainder of his pancakes half forgotten.

"Wow. Man... Squirrels, huh? That's got to suck."

"Yeah," Phil agreed. It did sound absurd for one of their own to be taken out in such a manner. "Barton hasn't been too keen on talking about what happened, and his report is sorely lacking in details on the matter. But yes... Squirrels."

Jasper seemed to muse on this as he slowly cut another piece off of his cake. Something seemed to have occurred in his thought process as he chewed a bite. "You held a gun against the Wolverine... and _lived_? That guy could shred Doom like tissue paper."

Coulson shrugged, "It was a lucky night. Not that I'd want to test that luck again... And I am here, aren't I?"

Stillwell conceded the point with a tilt of the head. He finished chewing in silence and began to go for another before he spoke again. "Did... Did you meet Ororo Munroe?" he asked, eyes focused on his pancakes.

"Not personally, no. Why?"

"I was on surveillance for Xavier's place a while ago." Jasper looked up, a smirk pulling a corner of his mouth wide. "I always thought she was kind of hot."

Phil shook his head at his colleague and scowled in disapproval. "That is a gross misuse of S.H.E.I.L.D tech-"

_THWAP!_

Both agents turned to the window over their booth. A face was smeared against the glass hard enough to twist it into a contorted version of itself. Jasper felt his jaw go slack; it was the man he had bumped into when he arrived earlier, and he looked absolutely livid.

Behind him appeared the young woman with messy brown hair in a standard S.H.E.I.L.D junior agent's uniform and... was that a tail swaying behind her? With fur? Either way, she was giving the agents a pleased, buck-toothed grin as she single-handedly pinned the brute of a man to the side of the diner.

"Mister Coulson!" she exclaimed, voice slightly muffled by the glass. "I found this guy trying to break into your friend's car! What should I do with him?"

"Someone get this crazy _chica_ off me!" the man practically screamed as he twitched uselessly against the window. As suddenly as he appeared, the girl tugged hard on his body and they both vanished from the view outside.

"Oh for the love of..." Phil sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Do you mind if I take care of this?"

"Y-yeah, no. Go ahead...," Stillwell replied absently. He had become mesmerized by the scene before him, not even sure if it was real or a by product of the insane amount of sugar in his breakfast. "Uh... Same time next week?"

"Same time." Coulson had already exited the booth, straightened his jacket, and was heading out the door. "I'll see you then. And thanks for breakfast," he threw over his shoulder.

Jasper turned to bid his friend farewell (and good luck with that) but the agent had already disappeared on the other side of the doors. The only evidence Phil Coulson had ever been there was an empty coffee cup...

...And the bill.

"Figures," Stillwell muttered as he plucked the bill up and reached inside his jacket for his wallet.

* * *

_**AN:** Thank you all for reading! This was my first (finished) multichapter story published here, and I've been overwhelmed by the positive response and support. I also want to thank again Forgotten Honor for offering to beta, and Marvel Comics for giving us all such a varied and exciting universe to play in._

_Until next time!  
_


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